Page 91 of Bound to the Dreadlord

It’s foolish.

I do it anyway.

He barely moves, but he notices.

His jaw flexes. His shoulders go taut.

"That’s all?" I push him again. Harder. "You’re the great Dreadlord, aren’t you? Should I start trembling?"

It is reckless. Stupid. Dangerous.

But he’s been avoiding me.

And I need him to stop and look at me clearly. I shouldn’t even be asking this but everything that’s happening around me—the rumors, the murmurs and the life I’ve taken is taking a toll on me.

A flicker of something dark flashes in his gaze.

Something I should be afraid of.

But I’m not.

He moves.

Fast.

His fingers wrap around my wrist before I can react. He jerks me forward—too close, too fast.

A gasp barely escapes before I collide against his chest.

"You are pushing me," he murmurs, voice like velvet over steel. "Do you want to see what happens when I break?"

His fingers tighten. Not painful, but firm. Unyielding.

I should back down.

Instead, I strike first.

My free hand slams against his ribs.

It’s not a soft, weak thing—it’s a real hit. A real challenge. A real fight.

He exhales, low and sharp.

And he grins.

He fucking grins.

Something dangerous flickers in his silver eyes.

His grip shifts, and before I can react, he pulls—too fast, too hard.

I twist. My back slams against the table, my breath knocked out in an instant.

But I don’t stop.

I lift my knee—aiming for his side.

He blocks it.

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